


Forgotten Memories

by Rurikredwolf



Series: Forgotten Memories [1]
Category: Legend of Spyro, Spyro
Genre: Are you happy?, Did I mention that I forgot about this site, Happy Fun Times, Here we go, Horror, Misery, Multi, Oh Lawdy, Ruscsi told me to make an account here, Undead, and to add in a lot of tags, for everyone, so she can read them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rurikredwolf/pseuds/Rurikredwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plot: After Spyro and Cynder were brutally murdered, Cynder has lost her memories after a ressurection spell went wrong. Now, joined with the new Flame Guardian, Viberian, and the Convexity-Corrupted Yeras, she is tasked with freeing the world from an undead Malefor and the new Dark Master he serves while trying to remember who she once was. On top of that, Spyro's body is nowhere to be found...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hi; My name is Rurik and I've been writing this story on my Deviantart for about three years now. I was redirected here and decided to give it a shot. Enjoy~
> 
> Original Date of publication: 9/6/13

Wrong.

Everything was wrong with this scenario. The trees, the very air the purple dragon breathed was poisoned. His amethyst eyes were widened in fear and disbelief. He had to be dreaming! There was no possible way that this could be happening! Yet, the beating of his heart against broken ribs and the blood that ran down his purple scales told him that this was not the case.

Before him, the nightmare of his life unveiled through the thick, blinding, green mist. There, Cynder, an ebony scaled female dragon with ruby red underbelly scales, breathed her last breath. A plagued, corrupted tail spike lay burred in her misection, twisting and turning. Rotten flesh hung from the tail itself, revealing decayed muscle and bone. As for the owner...

"Really, this is the best you two could do now?" A chilly, raspy voice asked with a psychotic giggle. "When you two were whelps you were stronger. The hell happened?"

This was asked by someone that Spyro hoped never to see again; Malefor. At least...the broken, reanimated corpse of him. Dull remains of purple scales clung to his body like ragged cloth, rotten muscle tissue lay exposed, and his mouth forever bore a skeletal smile. Green, plagued eyes stared at Spyro with wicked intent, what little facial muscles twisted into mad delight.

Spyro found it impossible to answer, choking up blood as his vision momentarily went dizzy. His once golden underbelly was stained scarlet with the wounds inflicted upon him, and it was a miracle that he had even made it to his claws. The death of his mate should have inspired him, but it instead crushed what hope he had and scattered the remains in the wind. He felt lightheaded and could faint at any moment, but with what little strength he had, he gave his nemesis one final glare.

Malefor's head tilted to the side, allowing Spyro to see that part of his neck had rotted through. It was a ghastly sight, to say the least. Ripping out the blade none-too-gently, Malefor approached the purple dragon. His claws skittered like a dance, the sinew that connected the digits painfully exposed. Spyro felt the urge to vomit when Malefor licked his tail blade.

"Exquisite..." He purred with delight. "I wonder how you will taste. I am so hungry, you know. I don't even care if I can't process the food...urges are urges. I'm sure you can understand."

Spyro felt a final burst of pain in his chest. Glancing down, he saw saw Malefor's tail spike burst through his ribs and strike his heart. It was so excruciating that Spyro felt...nothing. His limbs slacked and his jaw opened in shock. Falling to the side like a sack of bricks, Spyro futility gasped for air from the withered ground.

Malefor glanced down with false sympathy. "Oh no, whatever shall I do? Should I let you slowly die, or should I finish you now? Choices, choices! Oh how I wish for a coin!"

To Spyro's shock, Malefor grabbed the barely-alive purple dragon and lifted his limp body without any difficulty. Spyro spat blood into the undead monstrosity's face, but it didn't seem to phase him. In fact, he relished it.

"Hmm...so what do you think of this Resurrection?" Malefor pondered. "I think I'll give you something to dwell upon before you fade away. After all, you are the same as I, right? Well, minus the rotten flesh. Listen closely, purple dragon, because-"

Before Malefor could speak, fire raged in the distant mists. It seemed to be getting closer, along with various shouts. Malefor let out a banshee-like hiss, diseased fangs clicking in frustration. Spyro noticed that he was looking at Cynder, but for some reason, decided not to grab her body as well.

"Oop, time's up. I guess you die without knowing. Too bad, so sad, not really." Malefor said with a wave of his withered wing as the other claw struck Spyro under his neck. A sense of emptiness washed over him as comforting blackness whisked him away to oblivion.


	2. Ruins of Warfang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Down and down the spiral of pain and misery we go~
> 
> Original publication date: 9/13/13

Rain poured over the Ruins of Warfang. Thunder clapped to the lightning's dance, creating a soft rumble that felt like tiny earthquake. The elementals were in a fit of rage of late; like they were mourning and lashing out upon the world. At least, that's what green-scaled dragon thought was he adjusted the dark hood on him.

Terrador couldn't believe any of this could have happened. First Ignitus dies ten years ago...and now Malefor's sudden return along with the deaths of the ones who stopped him before. All of this, including the destruction of Warfang, came so suddenly. They were not prepared.

The ones vibrant streets were ghostly. Only memories brought this city to life...memories that brought pain and mourning for what was lost. The smooth pavement was torn and bumpy, causing the cart he brought to clang loudly behind him. He took a glance back, his hood tilting backwards to reveal a horrible scar across his muzzle as he observed the blue tarp that covered the back.

"It's alright; nothing happened." A male voice reassured him as a fiery red scaled face poked from behind the carriage. His bright, sapphire contradicted the gaunt, haggard condition he was in; Terrador wished he could retain the same optimism.

"Thank you...er..." Terrador struggled to remember the code-name. His brain tried to go for something complex, not-.

"Flame." The dragon replied with a whispy smile. "So, how much longer do we have to go, Rock? Kinda uncomfortable back here."

Rock...it was so baffling that he didn't know what to think of it. Code-names were a necessity nowadays, as Terrador's own name would bring unholy creatures crashing down upon them. The names given were more amusing when the creator of them was by far one of the most creative dragons he knew. It was like he had to try to think of them.

"Not much; I can see the statue..." Terrador turned his head back, adjusting the harness around him.

There, before him near what used to be the Great Warfang River, which ran directly through the city, lay the crumpled gold statue of Spyro. It was created after the purple dragon had nearly sacrificed his life to create what he described to be a 'World Magnet'. By bringing the plates back together, he saved everyone he could. After that, he and Cynder, who was also at the point of impact, disappeared for a year or two. Then, they returned, nearly adults, as mates. In their honor, two statues were erected, on both sides of Warfang to symbolize their protection. Now, what false protection they gave was shattered much like the golden claw at Terrador's talons.

Passing it by, Terrador examined the remains of a large building that completely blocked the path. A simple fly over would allow him to bypass it, but he couldn't with the...'cargo'...he carried. Terrador instead planted his strong limbs upon the ground and locked the muscles. His eyes flashed an earthly yellow before a large boulder sticking halfway out of the remains surged out before rolling to a halt.

There, a large passage opened up before him. Instead of moved, Terrador had other plans for the rubble. Ushering Flame and the carriage in, Terrador had to pat himself on the back again. The walls were glazed and designed in such a way that they wouldn't collapse, and he had partially restored parts of the rooms. Granted, they were on their side, but what remained served as a foundation for what few survivors still lived here.

The path eventually led down underground. Terrador cautiously made sure that the cart would not slip forwards during the descent. What seemed like an eternity later, his claws finally hit the bottom, where moisture clung like moss to the floors and ceilings. Terrador allowed himself a shiver, the sudden frigid air like a slap in the face. Yet, he saw a bright orange light before him, and he couldn't help a tiny grin.

The welcoming warmth of a fire greeted him, followed by the sizzling scent of fish. Although Terrador never fancied himself as an aquatic eater, they had become a delicacy in these times. Two dragons sat before the fire, one of them an electric gold scheme, and another a much brighter shade of green than Terrador. The latter turned her head back and seemed to understand the silent gesture that the other made with his purple horned head.

"Ah, there you are." Terrador and Flame were greeted by the swift-paced voice of the yellow dragon.

"Evening, Volteer." Terrador answered quietly. "May I speak to you and Cyril in the council room?"

Volteer's face fell, his already sleek muzzle seeming much thinner. He seemed to be looking behind Terrador, trying to find someone. Terrador knew exactly who he was searching for, and bit his lower lip. This...this was going to be a long night.

"Viberion, go get some rest." Terrador told the younger dragon, who instantly understood what Terrador meant.

"Call me if you need me." He said as he departed down a dimly lit hallway, his gold horns bobbing up and down.

"I suspect we'll be doing that quite soon." Terrador replied quietly, gesturing the eccentric electric dragon to follow him, the cart slowly creaking along.

"Cyril is already in the room from what he told me before." Volteer informed, emerald eyes flickering to the cart. "Must you bring that along? It is making such a racket! I had just put the hatchlings to sleep, so I would appreciate some oil or gel on the axle!"

"Believe me, it's the exact reason for the meeting."

"Surely you could just carry part of it in; you're burly enough." Volteer observed Terrador's muscular limbs from under the cloak.

"Volteer, can you please trust me on this one?" Terrador answered with frustration. "Today has already been horrible enough; I don't need needless complaints!"

Volteer silenced himself, but Terrador knew it wouldn't be long before he opened his maw once again. Volteer was by far one of the clever, sharp minds the earth dragon ever met. His mind raced at a hundred miles an hour, and by the elements did he let that show. There were times where Terrador couldn't even understand him due to his speedy speeches. To top it off, his creativity knew no bounds.

Which made it extra shocking when he gave Terrador the name 'Rock'.

Soon, they stood before a massive wooden door. The condensation made it puffy and wet, as well as a tad hard to open. It was only temporary, though; Terrador had commissioned what little Manweresmalls that remained to build a better door. It should be done by next week, but given the working conditions, he didn't expect it for another month.

Moving past them, Terrador stood in a circular room very reminiscent of the old temple. A pool of visions lay in the center, and despite none of them being able to use it like Spyro or Ignitus could, it did allow for quiet contemplation. Terrador had restored it as he believed that they would find someone who could use it eventually. Now...he didn't know what to believe.

"Must you bring that in?" A cold, accented voice asked as an icy blue dragon stared from the shadows, flickers from the torches casting lines across his muzzle.

"You will understand, Cyril." Terrador assured as a thin layer of ice cracked on the new dragon as he began to move. It fell like glass, shattering on the ground into thousands of pieces.

"I'd better." Cyril cricked his neck and stretched. "I notice you are alone; Where are Spyro and Cynder?"

Terrador felt pain surge through him like a white hot needle. He knew it was coming, but he wanted to prolong it as long as he could. It was stupid, now he faced reality. Without looking at Volteer and Cyril, Terrador shut the doors, and with a sigh, took off the tarp.

Silence filled the room like a black void. Volteer had paled, and Cyril's face had broken like the ice that was on him. There, laying in the cart on her back, was the corpse of Cynder. Her body was still warm, and her scales had only just began to dull. Wounds from claws could be seen on various parts of her body, but they were minor compared to the large, infected stab wound on her stomach.

"Spyro could not be found, but there were other splotches of blood along with a few of his scales." Terrador replied to the unasked question.

"I-Impossible..." Cyril barely choked out, eyes wide with fear and despair.

"Inconceivable." Volteer blinked ten times in a row before slapping himself.

"I brought her corpse here because I couldn't leave it out there, and I kept it hidden because what little hope the survivors had is now shattered." Terrador turned away. "I...I couldn't let them see that yet."

"No, you are right..." Cyril admitted after a moment. "I...I still can't quite believe it. I...what do we do?"

"I don't know." Terrador admitted. "We're at a loss now; they figured out the reasoning behind the attacks, and now..."

"Now they were assassinated." Volteer finished somberly, his voice slower than normal. "Not even I have the faintest idea of what to do."

"We need to bury her...we can't have her rotting in here...tis demeaning." Cyril pointed out. "If Spyro is still alive...not even I want to think of his reaction.

The room fell silent afterwards. The cold, beige stone walls felt even colder, and the ceiling appeared to sag in mourning. Terrador's mind froze, staring at the two of them. Neither of them seemed to even know what emotion to convey. Terrador himself couldn't exactly inspire them to continue on; hell, he half expected this meeting to be the very last.

Volteer put a claw on her cheek. "Still warm...how long ago did this happen?"

"My guess is an hour ago; maybe two." Terrador answered solemnly.

Volteer bobbled his head up and down. "Alright, alright...I think I understand."

Cyril raised a scaly eyeridge. "Understand what?"

Volteer looked the two of them in the eye. He hesitated for a moment, but then came out with the most insane idea Terrador ever heard him sprout. "I believe I can resurrect her."

"How?" Both Terrador and Cyril asked, not even bothering to hide their disbelieving expressions.

"I remember reading it in a book in the old Warfang Library." Volteer explained, pacing back and forth. His black wings twitched in both anticipation and nervousness. "There, it speaks of an old ritual used to bind spirit to body once more."

Terrador sighed. The shock must have sent poor Volteer over the edge. The best he could do is humor him at this rate. A quick glance at Cyril told the Earth Warder that the Ice Guardian was about to tear his idea to shreds. Before Cyril could talk, though, Terrador stepped on his claw and shook his head disapprovingly. Cyril rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"So you speak of necromancy?" Cyril practically spat out before Terrador could stop it. "You know that magic is forbidden! Look what happened with Malefor!"

"Yes, I am aware." Volteer bobbled his head. "I am not entirely certain if this is true resurrection or necromancy. However, we need her alive if we are to put a stop to Malefor and whatever brought him back."

Terrador bit his lip again. It was true; something had to have brought Malefor back. There was no way he could resurrect himself. That was what Spyro and Cynder went to find out.

"So, what do we do if this ritual works?" Terrador questioned. "What if she is an undead and her psyche breaks like Malefor's? What do we do then?"

"It is a risk..." Volteer put his purple tail-blade under his chin. "Yet, what choice do we have? If she is truly tormented and wishes to die, we will grant her that wish. I am not going to make her suffer needlessly."

Then, Volteer's eyes snapped. "Cyril, freeze the body before the brain deteriorates! We will need her as preserved as possible!"

"What about the wound?" Terrador pointed out as he gently lifted Cynder's body from the cart. She looked like she was simply having a nightmare and would wake shortly.

"We will deal with it AFTER we are prepared!" Volteer snapped as Cyril breathed frigid air upon the corpse. Terrador had to turn away.

"So..what makes you think that Malefor left the library intact?" Terrador raised an eyeridge.

"Please, no one reads anymore. Plus, it wouldn't be in the public area; it'd be locked away where only a Guardian could enter." Volteer replied swiftly, continuing his pacing. He was muttering something so fast under his breath that Terrador felt like time itself had slowed.

"We will need a new Guardian for the ritual to work." He finally said. "I distinctly remember four elements being required, and there are three of us here."

Terrador knew that he'd have to open that can of worms eventually. Neither them wanted to replace Ignitus or Spyro, who decided to stay as Fire Guardian after Malefor. Cynder had become the new Tempest Guardian, as they had sorely lacked one since before Malefor's second rise. Terrador grimaced; he knew who he wanted to be the new Guardian, but the problem was convincing the others.

"We may as well elect a new Guardian, even if it is temporary." Terrador said with a small twinge of inspiration. Spyro may possibly still be alive.

"I don't see much of a choice in the matter." Volteer readily agreed.

"I don't see much of a point." Cyril replied cynically, having just gotten done freezing Cynder's body in a thick block of ice. Her wings were folded over her chest, and claws locked in between. Terrador hoped that they didn't cause more damage by freezing her.

"Cyril, would you rather lay on your back and await death, or at least go out with an earnest try?" Volteer shot back. "I will forever remain hopeful; even if you two give up, I don't see the reason for throwing away our efforts."

"Volteer is right." Terrador approached the Ice Guardian to assist in moving Cynder. He spied a shadowed corner that would do well in keeping her hidden. "The refugees still need us."

Cyril didn't say anything, which was both good and bad. Terrador let out an internal sigh. Volteer's crazy idea was the only shred of chance they had, and it made him feel the need to be commited by even going along with it. Hearing nothing but silence from the two of them, Terrador moved forward with his nomination.


End file.
